Cursed Soldier
by centric
Summary: At the Battle of Kuryłówka, there was a rumored monster who is resilient to the many bullets and death. The monstrosity of its assault left many to be terrified of its eyes but never managed to look into the cracks scarring the tormented soul. Warning: Violence (A full flashback to the events of A Corresponding Price)


Bullets pierced the air in massive numbers whereby they met their destinations at both ends. The soil was horribly tainted with rotting blood and some corpses had already been rooted by its thick moisture. The sky was dark, so eerily fitting for the catastrophic event, and the frigid winds pinched every exposed wounds into a searing pain; tirelessly until the bearer grew accustomed to its torment and shattered minds welcomed the sensation of ' _normality_ '.

There stood an unwavering figure with blond strands dancing amid the calamitous terrain. Bullets had sunk into his flesh and milking blood that smeared the dignity of his uniform.

"What the hell is he?!"

"No matter how many times we shoot him, he just won't _die_!"

The immortality of his kind, the skin hardened into steel and most prominently, the frightening willpower in his eyes.

Instantly, he sprung forward with a small explosion beneath his feet and towards his due victims. His blade swung and to the impossibility of the human eye's awareness, it was plunged deep into the Soviet soldier's core. Blood squirted and eyeballs rolled; another victory.

"St-stay away, you _monster_!"

More bullets struck his arm but it ignored the laws of combat and was employed to lodge the weapon into the screamer's forehead, deep where his brain would shriek and send thrilling pulse to the hold.

By then, more reinforcements would have arrived with both terror and awe at the monstrosity of their enemy. They had long deemed the Poles as beneath humanity and he, _Feliks_ , shall prove their distortion.

"…cannot… lose."

The mantra slipped past his lips which were coated with blood mixed of his own and enemy's.

It was when he recklessly, mindlessly reappeared in front of the Soviet troops whereby the survivors of his onslaught of stabbing would come to a horrifying realization.

"His eyes… He's not conscious at all! Is he _dead_?"

"Stop talking or he'll—"

Both of the men soon fell to the ground with a knife protruding from their chest each. They were roughly yanked by the powerful grip.

" _Oh dear, oh dear._ "

That voice!

"Mr. Braginski! We may have to call for a retreat! They are starting to overwhelm us. Particularly th-that, that monster over there! We couldn't stop him no matter how much we tried!"

"Oh? Are you shivering in terror, you poor soul?" Ivan inquired nonchalantly but wearing his typical smile. "Ah, you couldn't be blamed. You are still terribly young. I do wonder what makes you shiver in fear? It's _only_ Pol'sha, only _slightly_ crazier than he usually is. _Hee hee_."

"S-Sir?"

"You may retreat. However, I still have to bring this naughty child back," Ivan sang and dismissed the soldier with a cheerful wave of his authoritarian hand.

Frantically, the soldier bowed and scrambled to back to the formation, hollering at his comrades to pull out from the battle. If Ivan had looked back, he would have caught the look on the soldier's face that was desperately warning his superior of the threat.

Although, it could still be felt with every _insult_ climbing his skin.

"Pol'sha, Pol'sha," Ivan tutted at the rigidly standing nation. "See what you do to my men? They must be thinking that I couldn't even discipline my own children."

"Free… us."

"What was that? I couldn't possibly understand a word you say unless you speak _Russian_." His arm shot out and immediately had Feliks's neck in a vice grip. "Or shall I teach it to you properly by exercising your throat?"

Feliks's limbs flailed relentlessly, wildly with the blade coming down on Ivan's shoulder blades in all direction. Disgusted at the blood squeezed by the inferior nation's efforts, he roughly wrenched the weapons out of his hands in ease. Panic brimmed his movements and _oh_ , what a lovely view it was. However, such a flattering term would be wasted on this insect.

"I'm only teaching you the correct ways, Pol'sha. You have been living in sheer ignorance and someone needs to guide you to the correct path. I am sad that you refuse to see that."

Yet there was no sorrow or fret reflected in cold, amethyst eyes.

"You've always belonged to Russia, to us. We're bringing you home and helping you to be accepted by your true family. It's hard, I know but soon, you will come to enjoy every moment of your life. There is no better place than _home_."

 _As if you've ever belonged anywhere, you impertinent bug,_ flashed in Ivan's true honesty.

"There is… no home," Feliks choked out as Ivan realized his eyes had returned to its usual annoying shine. "Not with you because _you_ , have no home."

"Still so very ignorant."

The fingers that spun a web around Feliks's neck tightened and he sought no mercy by slamming his fist down Feliks's face, effectively breaking the area of bones. Each of his assault elicited a crack from his battered body and lips were bit until the blood caused his teeth to slip and shrieks terrorized the vicinity. Laughing cruelly into the air, Ivan dug his fingers into Feliks's collar and wrung him upwards like a tattered doll.

"Now that's the voice I heard when dear Lithuania shot you in the heart! Your friend left you, you have no one by your side! Litva only listens to me now, _not you_!"

The weak, hoarse laugh snapped Ivan back to attention.

" _Wrong_. Lietuvos… wasn't listening to me. _I_ was… dragging him."

To realize that had only been after his attempt on seizing Vilnius. The pristine rage in his former partner's eyes had rippled in his mind day after day. It had hurt him to realize and killed him to finally accept after their ties were officially severed. Russia. Toris even accepted Russia's help to claim _his capital, his heart_ back. Things were no longer as they were, no matter how hard he would wish.

( " _You are the worst person I've seen!" )_

 _("Get out! Get out of our country!" )_

 _( "You don't belong here!" )_

Feliks didn't realize his tears were flowing.

"Even if I wanted… to protect him… us. This is… the _price I paid_."

The next expression on Feliks's face came to aggravate Ivan to no end. His eyes were narrowed, brows furrowed with the remaining pull of his strength. Sympathy. _Pity._

"You haven't… paid the price yet."

"Silence!"

The impact almost broke his skull clean and a click of a gun could be heard when its barrel was shoved in his chest, where his weary heart rested beneath.

"You have the nerve, _Pol'sha_! I don't have to pay anything! You are the one who has to pay everything! You existed without consequences! You are a liability to the world, to me! Yet, you still dared to give me that insolent look? You have gone mad, so horribly mad!

You're simply asking to be hurt!"

"To be hurt… I will have to _respect_ you first, wouldn't I?"

 _You cannot hurt me. You are not Lietuvos. If you want to wound me, bring him._

The last of Feliks's words ended with a shrill laughter thrown into the rigid winds and a shot fired at point blank into his heart. The wound tore out from the flesh but it was undoubtedly not as near widespread as when Toris created the gaping hole himself.

( _"Feliks Łukasiewicz, personification of Poland._

 _I, the leader in exile, had failed you horribly. I only ask of you to free our people, our country and yourself. No matter the extent you strive for freedom, we will follow dutifully._

 _Remember, you need not be stronger than everyone to win._

 _You simply must not be weaker than anyone."_ )

Ivan dragged the insentient body along the pile of snow with its blood smeared his trenchcoat as a momento of his rage. His frustration never died down even when his eyes were closed into a temporary slumber as even when in sleep, Feliks did not lose that smugness on his upturned lips.

Nearby, a wolf turned its tail away from the scene, abandoning the man most desperately in need and trudged towards where the golden rye fields would welcome it home.

* * *

This story takes place at the Battle of Kuryłówka whereby the Polish anti-communist resistance group and Soviet Union's NKVD forces fought during May 7, 1945. It was ended when the NKVD unit retreated with their loses said to be from 50 to 70 over different historian's estimations.

Honestly, I haven't written an angst or violent fic before since I'm usually the kind who flows better with subtlety. Because of that, I'm not really confident about this story but I think I will try to exercise the genre more to churn out more serious fics. Here is a try from me anyway and many thanks for giving it a try!


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